


Spiegel im Spiegel

by Issay



Series: One-shot collection [4]
Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issay/pseuds/Issay
Summary: A whirlwind of youth and passion, he writes on a scrap of paper during one of those early, bright days of the war,locked underneath the prim and proper façade. She’s the epitome of British youth: all this potential brimming in the depth, endlessly fighting with the strict upbringing.He gets her cups of tea and talks about New York and Washington, DC, about the life of a reporter and about a little town in Illinois he was born in. In turn, she talks about London, shares gossip and funny little stories – nothing scandalous, she’s very mindful of that – from the life of the hotel, gives him tips what he just has to see in the city and where to get the best fish and chips.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canonical up to 1x06, as the last two episodes haven't aired yet (but I think we can safely assume this is a canon divergence fic). 
> 
> "Spiegel im Spiegel", literally "mirror in the mirror".

At the beginning, she’s just another pretty face.

 _A whirlwind of youth and passion_ , he writes on a scrap of paper during one of those early, bright days of the war _, locked underneath the prim and proper façade. She’s the epitome of British youth: all this potential brimming in the depth, endlessly fighting with the strict upbringing._

He flirts with her, of course, the same way he flirts with all the other girls. Or that’s what he tells himself: Emma is no different than any other young woman he’s met in London so far. But the longer he stays at The Halcyon, the harder it is to believe this lie and to ignore that sharp, hot pang somewhere deep in his gut every time he sees her. He’s old and cynical, he should stay away from her. He reminds himself of it time and time again, and sometimes he even succeeds. But in the middle of the night, when he tosses and turns, when the sleep evades him, he doesn’t have it in him to fight it. So he dresses – pants and shirt, nothing fancy, after all it’s nearly 4 AM – and goes down to the reception where she has her night shift.

“Mister O’Hara,” she welcomes him with a warm smile and tired eyes, never failing to look friendly even when he’s the pariah and can’t show his face in the bar without risking another bruise.

“Ah, miss Garland. Stuck with the night shift again, I see?”

“Anything for our guests, even in the middle of the night. What can I do for you, mister O’Hara?”

And that’s how begins this strange, tentative friendship of theirs. He gets her cups of tea and talks about New York and Washington, DC, about the life of a reporter and about a little town in Illinois he was born in. In turn, she talks about London, shares gossip and funny little stories – nothing scandalous, she’s very mindful of that – from the life of the hotel, gives him tips what he just has to see in the city and where to get the best fish and chips. And sometimes they just sit in silence, yes, sit for now he has a stool she puts behind the reception desk just for him, so they sit without speaking and simply draw comfort from not being alone. He’s gone long before the day shift comes, and as far as he’s concerned, no one knows about their meetings.

(Of course she tells her father, there’s little mister Garland doesn’t know about what’s happening in the hotel. It wouldn’t be proper for him to learn of this from someone else. Richard nods and does not comment, but he watches O’Hara more carefully.)

He’s happy for her when she’s promoted but that also means the end of their middle-of-the-night talks and he knows he’ll sorely miss them. They still talk, of course – sometimes he’ll take her out for fish and chips or a walk through the city on her day off. It almost feels like they’re going on dates but she’s still just friendly and has eyes only for Freddie Hamilton. He can’t really compete with the young lord – he doesn’t want to compete, he tells himself sternly – so he watches Emma bloom and change. There’s something softly feminine about her now, like she has reached another step in womanhood. Truly, it’s a sight to behold.

“Drink with me, Joe,” says Toby one day after catching him watch her. “Maybe it’ll help for the sadness on your face when you look at her.”

They drink and they don’t talk about it. And if O’Hara sees young Hamilton’s eyes following the handsome young man behind the bar, he doesn’t say anything. It’s not his business, and he remembers that those things in Britain are forbidden by law. Toby’s a friend, Joe reminds the journalistic part of his brain and does his best to ignore the observation.

When he thinks he’s going back to America – not that the prospect is overwhelmingly exciting, there’s nothing there for him to come home to, only his job and an apartment rented by his employer – for an insane second he thinks about asking Emma to come with him. Away from the war, away from Germany and night-time bombings. He could ask mister Garland to back him up on this, he knows that fatherly instincts will win this one. Richard would want to keep his precious girl safe and where is safer than an ocean away? But Joe banishes the thought before his mind can start imagining coming home in the evening to her, having a life with her.

Good God, he needs to put an ocean between himself and her before he falls in love.

(The traitorous part of him whispers that it’s already too late and that leaving will only break his heart, that seeing her every day is much better than sitting in an empty apartment and wondering if she’s still alive. He tries to ignore it. He really does.)

Then it simply slips out, he offers her a position and she shoots him down without a second thought. Fine then, he thinks. He tried. He can go home now and she can stay on that godforsaken island and get shot at by the Germans. He ignores the thought that the world without Emma Garland in it doesn’t seem worth a damn. He does a lot of ignoring these days.

Of course she has to drag him to that bloody hospital and he lashes out because Emma looks at him like he’s a good man. Like what he’s doing is worth a damn when he knows it doesn’t, that words won’t change the world in the age of bombs and bullets.

Her face haunts him as he sulks in his room over sheets of paper and the next – last – dispatch that just refuses to be written. So he chats with Toby, decides that the Brits are positively insane, and returns to the hospital because at the time it seems like the right thing to do. He hopes for a happy end to his story. He should have known that happy ends aren’t really possible in the 1940 London.

He stays either way.

There’s warmth in Emma’s eyes as she hands him the keys, her father calls him “one of their own” and Joes almost chokes up a little. Somehow the Halcyon has become home to him and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. He’s glad to stay.

Emma brings him gin on the rocks later that day, and squeezes his hand. He feels warm for hours after that.

*

The war has truly started and for the first time in his life, Joe is afraid. Every time he hears the sirens he wonders if this is the day a bomb drops on the shelter and kills everyone inside. Surely, he can’t be the only one, right? But people around him are not afraid, or at least they’re not showing any fear. So little by little, alarm after alarm, he is scared a little less – or maybe only learns how to hide it, even from himself. Soon, he starts to go outside during the alarms, watches the city and reports everything.

Emma is still not talking to him.

He dropped the ball on this one, he knows. Should have kept his words to himself and treat her heartbreak seriously – but at the moment he only wanted to punch Freddie Hamilton for the devastation in her eyes. Jokes seemed like a safer option. Joe wishes he punched Freddie instead.

Joe buys an armful of white roses, a literal armful, and the woman in flower shop quips that he has something huge to apologize for and he agrees with her readily. Women on the street  stare after him as he carries a wicker basket filled with flowers, enters The Halcyon and goes towards the staff quarters.

“Better late than never,” mutters Richard, eyeing the American. Peggy chuckles, watching him with knowing eyes.

“I’m starting to think that you like him better than young lord Hamilton.”

Garland snorts with indignation because no man will ever be good enough for his little girl, but answers:

“You bet I do.”

He knocks on her door and when she opens, Joe hides his face behind the basket.

“I’m sorry, Emma” he says, his voice so heavy with regret it surprises even him. “I was a mean bastard and you didn’t deserve any of it. Will you forgive the old fool?”

Emma looks at the flowers, blinks, and then looks at him. He meets her eyes when she bursts out laughing.

“Well, I suppose you apologized beautifully enough to warrant forgiveness,” she says, still laughing, but she takes the roses and breathes deeply. Her eyes close, a bit of pink shade appears on her cheeks and the intimacy of it hits Joe like a kraut bomb. “You’re the first man to ever give me flowers, you know.”

“Well, that cannot be, miss Garland. A woman like you should get flowers every day.”

It slipped out before he could stop it. Her huge eyes flew open again, looking at him with surprise but before he could apologize (again!), she smiled at him shyly.

“You are more than kind, Joe.”

He escapes before he says something more inappropriate than an innocent compliment. He and Toby get drunk that evening, ending the night in Joe’s room, Hamilton way too inebriated to remember his room’s number. O’Hara doesn’t say anything but after his young friend falls asleep on the couch, he’s grateful for not being alone. Of course, two hours later there’s another air raid alarm but that’s another story.

*

After Emma joins Women’s Voluntary Services, Joe starts smoking next to the staff entrance around the hour she should get back from the night shift. Usually he’s alone, sometimes one of the cooks appears for a minute, other times it’s Toby on his day off. But this time… Well, this time he’s been standing there for a long time.

“She was supposed to be back half an hour ago,” mutters Richard, standing next to O’Hara. The younger man offers him a cigarette and lights it, and they stand in worried silence for a moment.  “I’m afraid one of those days she just won’t come back and they’ll dig her up from underneath some rubble, dead and unrecognizable, and they won’t even know who to tell.”

“You can’t think about it,” sighs the younger man. “Or you won’t be able to let her go. And we both know she won’t stop.”

“Tying her up and keeping her in the shelter until the war is over seems like an idea.”

Joe snorts, trying to imagine it. After a moment, he sobers up and lights another cigarette.

“I’ll try to sneak my way into the WVS. I’ll say I’m doing a story on them, maybe they’ll let me tag along. Keep an eye on Emma.”

This gets Garland’s attention and the older man stares at Joe for a long moment.

“You would do that? You’d risk her life for her?”

“Yeah. I would.”

“You’re a good man, O’Hara. Better than I thought.”

Joe only smiles. She comes home ten minutes later, dusty and tired but alive and in one piece. Joe breathes easier. He wouldn’t share it with Richard Garland but he too sometimes dreams of her, trapped under some building, needing help and dying slowly before he could get to her.

He wakes up shaking and covered in cold sweat every time.

*

O’Hara stays with her. It’s a cold night in the middle of the blitz but he stays with her and her hands stop shaking. German bombs are pounding around them and they both could die in this freezing room with a dead body, but she’s not scared anymore. It should freak her out. Somehow, it doesn’t.

They survive.

They go home together – dusty but alive, and it feels so good to be alive right now – and she keeps  having to stop herself from slipping her hand into his. She remembers how warm and steady it was during the night, when he willingly risked his life just to stay with her. Emma reminds herself that he’s much older than her, that father wouldn’t approve, that she loves…

No. She _loved_ Freddie. Past time, not anymore, and it’s so strange she doesn’t want to think about it right now because they’re so lucky to be alive.

But then they return to The Halcyon and she doesn’t feel so lucky anymore. She’s alive. Joe is alive. And poor Billy’s dead. The ground feels like it’s escaping from underneath Emma’s feet so she leaves, she sheds her uniform (how proud Billy was of his!), changes clothes and tries to find something to do because idle hands and grief are not a good mix. She tries, she really does. But somehow she just can’t move anymore and there are tears in her eyes.

She hears his voice calling her but doesn’t react. Joe turns her so that now she’s facing him and there’s worry in his kind eyes. And just like that, she can’t fight anymore and she breaks down in his arms, allows herself to weep in this warm, sure embrace. He holds her until she’s too weak to stand on her own and he has to support most of her weight. Emma lets herself be carried and laid on a bed – Joe’s bed, she can smell his cologne all around her – and slowly, safely drifts away.

Later she learns that he called downstairs to inform her father about her little breakdown, and that Richard had called WVS to say that she won’t be coming in for a few days because of a death in the family. It’s bitter, how true it is. Billy was pretty much her younger brother and she grieves him as such.

Joe spends the day watching her sleep, curled in a very uncomfortable armchair he dragged to stand next to the bed. He’s the first thing she sees after she wakes up. It’s comforting. And she should be embarrassed, he saw her at her very worst, but then the grief hits her and Emma doesn’t care about embarrassment anymore. She stands up without saying anything, so does he, and then she hugs him again. They stand there for a long moment, her face burrowed in the crook of his neck, his arms around her. Before he lets her go, before she leaves the room, Joe kisses her forehead with utmost tenderness and it’s almost as if the ground shook.

*

Air raids continue. Night after night, sometimes even during the day, the sirens don’t let them sleep. But The Halcyon goes on, there are parties and fun to be had. Betsey sings, Adil pours drinks, Joe gives his reports. Life goes on. And more often than not, he’s there when she goes out into the night, a steadfast presence at her side. After a couple of weeks they become known as “Emma and her American”. She doesn’t mind. Neither does he.

Emma works the hotel’s 50th anniversary party which means he has an night off. Either way he stays by her side. The party’s in the full swing when the sirens go off, Joe starts saying something – and then there’s loud noise and the last thing she feels before blacking out is a warm weight crashing into her.

When she wakes, once again Joe is the first person she sees. They’re in the shelter, he’s unconscious on the cot next to hers and everything hurts. Her father is sitting on the other side of her and he helps her sit up as she looks around, confused and a little scared.

“Dad? What happened?”

“The lobby’s been hit,” answers Richard, handing her a glass of water. “Mister O’Hara ended being your human shield.”

She realizes that Joe’s left arm is covered in bandages and that there’s blood on his shirt. He’s still mostly covered in dust and soot while her hands are clean. She has no idea why this little detail bothers her so much but it does, she can’t look at it.

“Is he going to be fine?”

“Yes, one of the guests is a physician. He needed some stitches and he’ll probably have one hell of a headache, but he’ll be fine.”

Emma breathes deeply, relieved. Slowly, carefully – her chest aches, as does her head, but she won’t let that stop her – she moves to sit face to Joe. She looks over her shoulder, at Richard.

“Is there a piece of cloth and some water I could use?”

Once she gets what she asked for, Emma gently cleans his face and hands, and then holds one of them between her own. People pass her by, the city above them is, without a doubt, burning. Emma waits.

Eventually, just as the hotel shakes again, Joe’s eyes open.

“Hi,” she whispers, suddenly unsure. His fingers twitch in hers but before she can let him go, his hold tightens and her fingers slip between his.

“Hey yourself,” he mutters. “Everybody whole?”

“Pretty much.” Emma reaches and takes a little piece of debris from his hear. “You’re a bit banged up but that’s what you get for saving my life.”

“Happy to be of service,” Joe answers and closes his eyes again. There’s a small smile on his face and before she can talk herself out of it, she says:

“Do you remember that night we’ve spend over that woman’s body? You asked me what I wanted to do after this. After the war.”

“Mmm, I remember.” His eyes open again and he blinks, slightly disoriented. “Why?”

“If we survive the war, I want to see Illinois.”

The look on his face is truly priceless but she’s too nervous to fully appreciate it. Did she go too far? Did she read the situation wrong? But after the initial shock, his face changes, completely transform by the brilliant smile. He tugs her hand upwards, to his face, and tenderly kisses it. In the dim light, he can see her blush.

“I think I’ll hold you to that, miss Garland.”

“You do that, mister O’Hara.”

London is burning, the sky is full of German airplanes, and it’s hot and crowded in The Halcyon’s shelter, but for now, they’re happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](http://issayscorner.tumblr.com/)


End file.
